


Dying in your sheets, trying to start a revolution, maybe could’ve been the best way for me to end.

by LennyFace



Series: The Florentine Downfall [1]
Category: Tokyo Ghoul
Genre: Dissociative Identity Disorder, Flashbacks, I Wanted To Write Smut And It Turned Out As Full Angst, Literary References & Allusions, M/M, Mildly Resolved Emotional Tension, Past Abuse, Self-Harm, Suicidal Thoughts, This fic is set after chapter 58 just before they catch Shiono, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-16
Updated: 2016-07-16
Packaged: 2018-07-24 10:52:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,080
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7505425
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LennyFace/pseuds/LennyFace
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>i am but a shell that has been hollowed out<br/>time after time.<br/>a body shaped by blows<br/>and a mind by rasping words.</p><p>sweetness comes with blood<br/>and the taste in my mouth is the only<br/>soft thing<br/>i've come to savor.</p><p>there's this reassuring certainty<br/>that the cycle won't be broken,<br/>that the figures i look up to<br/>won't forget to put me down<br/>and hit</p><p>you've added your fair share in the puzzle<br/>acting as organs<br/>strengthening my frame</p><p>new colors on the bruise canvas;<br/>cool fingers<br/>against<br/>burning thoughts</p><p>you did your job<br/>what was asked of you;<br/>and it came with a fondness in my heart<br/>that follows the path i've always known</p><p>_____</p><p>Where a Lorenzaccio AU would've been perfect but I don't have the time to adapt a 19th century play.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dying in your sheets, trying to start a revolution, maybe could’ve been the best way for me to end.

**Author's Note:**

> I would like to thank my dear friend Betty (Tumblr user: drofv) for bearing through the pain of receiving every idea I came up with, of waking up to painful extracts, of accepting the shift from slightly sad smut to complete destruction, and of correcting the drafts.
> 
> This was supposed to be an excuse to write NSFW Arima/Sasaki/Furuta - I have a full 2.5k words part sleeping in my drafts - but Arima's death made me choose my homeland path: complete angst.
> 
> Three things:  
> 1\. I apologize if you find any mistake; please indicate them if you have time, I may have missed some since I'm French.
> 
> 2\. I'd like to point out that I started writing this fic in April so when I picked it up a few days ago, I painfully realized that some of my headcanons had become true (the hand reach, "let me understand you", and the "dying [...], trying to start a revolution", etc).
> 
> 3\. if you want a background music for all this pain, the chief advise you whether  
> \- smooth and sad minimal electro: Son Lux // Easy  
> \- The Painful and Great: NAÏVE // Transoceanic  
> (Both are nice)
> 
> Please, don't hesitate dropping a little thing, it'd warm my heart! Contact me if you want to know how accurate a Lorenzaccio AU would be!  
> (See endnotes for links)

_ i am but a shell that has been hollowed out _ _  
_ _ time after time. _ _  
_ _ a body shaped by blows _ _  
_ _ and a mind by rasping words. _ _  
_ _  
_ _ sweetness comes with blood _ _  
_ _ and the taste in my mouth is the only _ _  
_ _ soft thing _ _  
_ _ i've come to savor. _ _  
_ _  
_ _ there's this reassuring certainty _ _  
_ _ that the cycle won't be broken, _ _  
_ _ that the figures i look up to _ _  
_ _ won't forget to put me down _ _  
_ _ and hit _ _  
_ _  
_ _ you've added your fair share in the puzzle _ _  
_ _ acting as organs _ _  
_ _ strengthening my frame _ _  
_ _  
_ _ new colors on the bruise canvas; _ _  
_ _ cool fingers  _ _  
_ _ against  _ _  
_ _ burning thoughts _ _  
_ _  
_ _ you did your job _ _  
_ _ what was asked of you; _ _  
_ _ and it came with a fondness in my heart _ _  
_ _ that follows the path i've always known _   
  


* * *

  
        He's sitting on the edge of his desk, draped in cold confidence - not smugness, only knowledge of his power.  
"You did well today."  
        His fingers are loosely gripping the edges, eyes focused on Sasaki, intently watching.  
"It must have been a draining task, to hold her back at bay, to dispose of her weapons."  
        He doesn't seem suspecting.   
"Yes, it was. It would've been better to kill her."  
        He hopes his voice is as assured as he'd like it to  
"Don't worry. You will get her in time. You should rest for now ; there's no rush in seizing her when it is obvious you will succeed, Haise."  
        He tilts his head, and whatever he made him go through, Sasaki still reads his expression as a soft and trusting one.   
  
_stories happening over and over again,_ _  
__is love abuse_ _  
__or abuse, love?_ _  
__in my mind, i never quite manage to draw the line._ _  
__contact is still contact as long as skin touches skin_ _  
__and that's all i crave for_ _  
_  
"Thank you Arima."  
        He bows, wondering with found-back memories if it's Haise who wants him or all of his self.   
"Don't worry, we'll have time to talk tomorrow; leave for now, I'll come by and bring you a few books."  
  
        He withdraws from the room and finds Furuta lurking around the corner.  
"The big boss called you in?" He says, a mischievous smile playing on his face.  
"It was just a debrief."  
        The answer is only echoed by him spinning on his heels, disbelieving.   
"Come on." He drawls out.  
"Furuta, I'm tired."  
        The day has been a long one and Sasaki is only dreaming of a thoughtless night.  
"About that, let's have some good time, to relax ; you know, grab a drink." He's swiftly walking backwards now, hands in his pockets, at ease.  
"No."  
"It'll help loosen you up!"  
"Forget it, I'm not letting you inebriate me."  
"What are you afraid of, boss?"  
"You seem up to no good with that smug smile of yours."  
        Hands up, he plays the innocence card.  
"I don't know what you could be referring to, it's just a nice drink and then you go home, I can even tuck you in."  
        Sasaki sighs.  
"Shut up."  
"Just one." He has spinned again and is now walking next to him, expectant.  
"One, and no one tucks no one in bed."  
"We'll see about that."

  


_ he’s sipping his drink, _

_ like anyone would _

_ but the edge in his look _

_ the gleam in his eyes _

_ tell it all too well _

  


_ he is nothing but perfect for me, _

_ my needs _

_ this never ending itch _

  


_ if i let him take me _

_ away from the audience _

_ he could be able _

_ to turn me into what i wish: _

_ sparse ashes, _

_ reminiscences of a boy who once was. _

  


_ but he’s there, _

_ and i’m sitting _

_ still, _

_ silent, _

_ mouth shut. _

  


_ what could i say? _

  


“One drink, that’s what we agreed on.” It’s the safest option.

“I said I’d consider it; and I decided that you would take another one.”

        They’re in their shared office, sitting across one another in comfortable leather seats, separated with a small round glass table.

“I could get you in trouble for trying to get your superior drunk.” He should’ve watched his words, because the only trouble he can think of can be found in the corners of Furuta’s smirk.

“I never saw you drink.”

“It’s because I don’t see the point in it.”

        He doesn’t understand.

“I might be half human but my body doesn’t bear it.”

“So it’s not that you don’t want to drink.”

“No, it’s -” He tries to justify himself, but he remembers.

        Furuta bends down, rummaging through his bag.

“I knew it.”

        Of course he did.

        But Sasaki is too far gone in his past to notice. He remembers the smell, the sweet fragrance of the Helter Skelter, the pouring blood filling his glass - similar in all points to the one Furuta’s serving him right now - and their voices ; voices he hasn’t heard in what feels like centuries.

“Don’t worry, I’m not afraid or whatever could come through your mind. If anything, that...peculiar constitution of yours makes you the most promising element of this whole damn establishment. Congrats”

        Sasaki snaps back to his present, his supposedly new and fresh self. He bleakly smiles.

“We almost caught the big fish tonight.”

“And tomorrow, we catch the bait and take her right in our arms.”

        He slides the drink as he tilts his head. Tongue tracing the shape of his lip, his digits touch Sasaki’s as he takes the glass.

“To our success.” He raises his and the other’s grin just grows wider, more dangerous.

“To happiness.”

  


        Maybe the sip he took wasn’t reasonable enough. It surprises him, he’s been in such control lately. He hopes he won’t lose hold of himself, he can’t afford it. His time has not come yet ; he’ll go with a bang, not with a miserable breakdown.

  


_ Breathe. _

  


        He won’t see any of them again, but at least they’re alive and that’s the best he can afford before the last performance.

        They’re breathing but it triggers another memory. Fingers tightly tangled in his hair, scalp hurting, neck exposed, another hand splayed on his chest and controlling. He killed them all, that’s what he said, and he was lying. He should want to kill him, to rip him apart for toying with him, but he only feels his guts burning.

  


        He’s fighting the feeling but it’s the same hell as it used to be when his memories were crawling in his head, trying to find their way back through vivid hallucinations ; except this time, he doesn’t really have the heart to hold it at bay.

  


_ nimble fingers, _ _  
_ _ what are they carrying; _ _  
_ _ death or affection? _ _  
_ _  
_ _ it doesn't matter. _ _  
_ _ i crave for both. _ _  
_ _  
_ _ whereas you tear blood or moans from me, _ _  
_ _ i don't care. _ _  
_ _ i want to feel, forget. _ _  
_ _  
_ _ reach the peak, _ _  
_ _ pain or pleasure _ _  
_ _ and then, _ _  
_ _ rideau _

  


        Sharp breath intake. He shouldn’t have been drinking, it’s been so long.

“Earth to Sasaki, I think we lost contact here.”

        Furuta is holding up his head with his hand, the liquid in his glass vanished.

        How long has he zoned out?

“This look on your face, it’s quite a fascinating one.”

“Hum.” He considers. What should he say. What would he have said before?

“This won’t leave the room, you know. When did you have alcohol - I guess you still call a cat at cat even though they’re not the same species - for the last time?” His eyes have turned into slits, light almost keeping Sasaki to see his pupils, dark, loaded with something he can’t quite name.

        Haise almost gives in, almost wants to tell him about Uta, Itori, everyone if he has to be honest ; but he breathes in. Hinami is downstairs.

“I can’t remember.”

“Well.” Furuta starts, accompanying his words with his tie being taken off, silk caressing his shoulders, like a trail of blood against the collarbone. Haise can’t take his eyes off until he’s slackened the collar of his crisp white shirt. “The pink shade suits you well. What were you thinking off when we lost you to Major Tom?”

He coughs, taking a second to connect the dots and realize he’s making a reference, somewhat an innocent one ; and Furuta notices. He doesn’t go any further than a single button.

“Oh, that’s a jackpot ; is it about the undefeated man, that mighty mentor of yours?”

“Will you stop with that?” He’s in no shape to bear the usual teasing...only in something resembling from close or far to a bed and nothing but void ; blank in the darkness before the shadows of the day.

“You, stop it ; you’d have to be blind to not see the admiration dripping from every inch of you.”

“Hairu used to have the same attitude.”

“This doesn’t help your case, boss.”

        They keep silent for a few seconds, considering the loss, not wanting to use the name of a dead woman against her memory.

“This is going nowhere. I’m going to sleep.”

        Furuta stands up at the same time, and walks towards the door to open it, leaning against its frame.

“After you, milord, I still have paperwork to fill in.”

“What a serious mind.” Haise finally jokes, and stops in front of him, waiting for the path to be cleared.

        They keep silent for a few seconds, watching each other and Furuta doesn’t even try to hide the fact that he’s gaugeing him from head to toe, with a predatory gaze.

  


        Furuta raises his hands and places them against Sasaki’s forearms, slowly making his way up until his fingers lightly knead his shoulders. Nimura’s face has gone blank, placid, and nothing comes out of his mouth until he unties his tie and says : “I’m repeating myself but you have to loosen up, to let yourself go a bit. Trust your partner.”

  


_ it would be so simple to _

_ lean over _

_ raise my own hands _

_ and _

_ kiss/kill him. _

_ such a suggestive expand of neck _

_ an invitation _

_ to bite/shred it _

  


        Arima appears in his mind once again, nonchalantly installed on his desk, legs opened just enough for him to crouch there, and worship.

  


_ i shouldn’t like this idea _

  


        Furuta’s hands are gone as soon as they were there and his body moves out of the way.

“Sleep well. You know where to find me.”

  


_ but i also shouldn’t have thought about Rize like that _

_ after she left me for dead _

_ and i longed for more _

  


        There is no disappointment in Furuta’s features, he knows, he found his way to Haise’s mind. He might not fully know him but that man is a clever one.

He could stay, close the door, and let himself consume and be consumed.

  


_ who am i trying to fool? _

  


        It’s Sasaki’s turn to stand in the door frame ; he turns himself towards the other man and says “I know, and will keep that in mind.”, before fixing his shirt, fingers skimming against his skin.

  


        He acknowledges the sudden breath in, the subtle change in attitude : shoulders straightening, scrutinous observation ; a raptor locking on his prey. It is enough. He gives him a faint smile, but a smile nonetheless before leaving, not bothering to close the door. 

  


_ the rooster’s head is looming, _

_ in the shadows _

_ i can feel it _

_ and i know the nails _

_ digging in my flesh _

_ won’t be enough _

_ to keep me away from myself. _

  


_ i breathe _

  


* * *

  


        When Sasaki comes back to the Chateau, Saiko’s in front of the television, curled over a pillow. She’s not really watching and he knows it. He knows the feeling, the one of loosing another, and after all, he’s lost himself so many times already. He walks up to her and puts a hand on her head; she doesn’t react at all ; they stay like that until the commercial break, and then he slowly retreats to his room. On his way, he checks up on Mustuki ; he expected Urie to be out and training, letting his pain out by wearing himself out, but he’s got his arm draped over the boy’s frame, both of them murmuring.

  


        His room looks the same : paperwork, books, and a bed. He folds his jacket, puts it away, and observes. It’s empty, and he realizes all of his rooms have always been like that, ready to be left and taken over by anyone else at any given time. He’s just passing by. 

        He doesn’t belong anywhere.

  


_ hundreds of pages _

_ running along the shelves _

_ different books _

_ different places _

_ ones coming from my father _

_ the others from him. _

  


        The switch doesn’t sound right when he turns on the light in the bathroom: it echoes on the walls, crawls its way on every tile, reverberating until it reaches his ears and

  


_ it is just around the corner _

  


        There’s a phase difference, the reverberation still ringing in his ears, taking control of his body ; reality takes a shift.

  


_ it is here. _

  


        Keep it cool, he thinks, but what is the point when he’s hearing the coming waves, ready to crash around his skull.

  


“No, no, no, no.” He breathes out, breathes in, the negation but a reminder to neither stop making his lungs function nor start hyperventilating.

  


        The cold sensation of the sink against his palms doesn’t help him at all to keep in touch with the world this time and he knows he shouldn’t, he really shouldn’t, but he must, he can’t help it ; he raises his head.

  


        In front of him ; vacant eyes.

  


_ whose are those? _

  


        And then, it is the end.

        The boy in front of his mirror doesn’t see anything else but these eyes, and the person he looks at is, 

  


_ who is in front of me? _

  


        He is....

  


_ who am i? _

  


        He can’t form any coherent thought, there are too many sounds ricocheting, obliterating any rationalization.

  


_ am i? _

        Like a flood, it fills him, one and a sole certainty, the only one he can believe in, whoever he is, any time, any where. 

  


        He has to die, to disappear. 

  


        And he can’t. 

  


He can’t and he’s trapped, cornered against his own mind, and the only way to free himself -

_ the only way is to wait, to save Hinami, and go out with a bang _ \- 

The only way is to -

  


        He bashes his head against the wall. He does it over and over again, until the glass breaks; the shards infiltrate his skin, the skin accepts them and forms itself back around the pieces ; and he continues, fragments cutting him. He doesn’t know how long he spends doing that, but does he really need to know when he doesn’t belong here?

  


        Blood or tears?

  


_ how does it matter? _

  


        He goes on up to the point where he has no energy left and his legs give in.

  


_ they can’t know. _

        He’s getting coherent again, scratching his forehead to take away the mirror’s remnants. Maybe he should leave the Chateau, take away the risk of them seeing him like this ; they’d be better without him, and they don’t need to live the death of another member of the team again.

  


_ just a few days, _

_ i’ll find a way. _

_ a handful of days, _

_ and i’ll love myself ; _

_ unconditionally. _

  


        He breathes.

  


        The thought of dying keeps him alive.

  


        He’s still crying when he goes to bed but his body has already regenerated. No one knows, no one has seen, no one has ever witnessed this.

  


_ don’t think about the past, _

_ the one before what you used to call past _

_ until a few days ago _

  


* * *

  


        The only thing that has not mended when the sun wakes him up is his mind.  


        Arima’s leaning over him, the rays of light throwing a gentle shade on his features ; hair slightly disheveled due to gravity. He’s close enough for Sasaki to watch him attentively and there’s this softness again, these creases around his eyes, a proof of his vulnerability.

_ you move your hand against the lines of my face _

_ defining my traits _

_ over again _

_ and slip your fingers in my mouth. _

_ the flutter i exhale _

_ is enough for you to go on; _

_ and akin to a kiss, _

_ i answer. _

_ they’ve claimed this ground _

_ and i leave them _

_ this infertile soil; _

_ make what you want with it. _

_ he hears and his digits _

_ shift farther _

_ until they choke me. _

  


_ i’ve not asked for this _

_ but it must mean something _

_ if we both want it, _

  


_ for you to kill me. _

_ please do as you wish _

_ and free me _

  


_ as i have failed _

  


        He wakes up and there’s no one to be seen. 

  


        Starting a new day after a night like the last one always happened to be difficult : his body is slack and his thoughts are tampered with the recollections of his dream, his nightmare, He doesn’t even really know how to call those kind of events anymore.

  


        His feet hit the carpet, and at least there’s no discrepancy between him and the world this morning. The rustle of the plain anthracite shirt he puts on feels too loud after sleeping in such a tensed silence; he stands, immobile, for a moment, listening to the street’s muffled sounds. He doesn’t bother putting on anything over his boxer shorts.

        His dressing gown acts as a shield against the outside world, but after all, there’s no one in the house, not even Saiko who sent him a text to inform him she was being dragged to the CCG’s therapist by Juuzou and Hanbee.

  


        Coffee is the mandatory step of his morning routine ; he takes it a hip on the kitchen counter while thinking about the book he’d like to lend to Arima. He’s pondered over this a lot since he’s gotten some of his memories back ; he didn’t need to consider it at length before realizing that someday he’d have to fight with him. 

        He doesn’t expect to win, he doesn’t want to, but he also wants to tell him in his own way that he knew and that it hadn’t taken away these feelings he would’ve preferred to erase, to simplify all of this situation.

        When someone starts being nice to you, it’s hard to hate them, and clearly, it wasn’t the first time this situation had happened : Rize, his mother, Tsukiyama before he actually started to change, and now, him. It was all too easy for his mind to take the step and make him fall for him.

  


_ love always comes with violence _

_ it’s the only way it has to be _

_ communicated. _

_ connecting fists are a  _

_ clearer contat _

_ than grazing hands. _

  


        He’s lost in thoughts, drink cold and left aside, when the door rings.

  


“Haise.” is all that he says when the other opens it. His eyes roam over the younger man, and he adjusts his glasses before scratching his throat as he’s not budging to let him enter.

        He moves aside, wondering if Arima’ll still wear the pin he gave him for Christmas when he learns about the truth. A part of him knows he shouldn’t care, that whatever happens, he’ll be six feet under by that time, and that the inspector owes him nothing.

  


“I’m sorry Arima-san, I haven’t properly dressed yet.” He feels ashamed now for having zoned out and not taken better care of himself for him.

        Though, he seems amused, clearly not used to seeing anyone’s bare and hairy legs.

“It’s okay, you’re not working this morning and I’m not coming today as a CCG representative.”

        They’re standing in front of each other, awkwardly still, and Sasaki wonders if he will ever come in the name of the CCG to this place. He tries laughing it off, the sound dying in his trachea. He doesn’t really know if it’s because of this possibility or the sheer presence of the man.

“Coffee, tea, anything? Please have a seat.” He replies instead.

“Coffee, please.” is the only answer, an easy one, as he carefully sits on the couch, at the same spot where Saiko was lifelessly laying the night prior.

  


        He starts the machine and climbs the flight of stairs to retrieve the book he wants to lend him, coming back right in time to serve a fuming cup, the work hidden in his back.

“What are you offering me this week?” Arima says, expecting.

        Sasaki hands him his espresso and tells him “You know that’s not how we proceed.” and here it is, what he was waiting for: that genuine smile, so rare it often seems like it’s part of his fantasies.

  


        He sits next to him and Arima opens his bag, taking out two books ; Haise has always been a fast reader. He lays them face down on his loosely crossed legs before drinking. He’s dressed as usual, tieless, collar slightly open. Sasaki thinks about Furuta’s behavior in their desk, realizes it’s not the best time for it, and prompts Arima to go on.

  


“I thought this play would suit you well.” He’s holding the book in his left hand, taking a break to look at it. “No Exit by Sartre, as you can come across difficulties with yourself sometimes…” 

  


_ his gaze trails off _

_ and i follow it. _

_ there’s an absence _

_ in his presence; _

_ i could almost touch it _

_ if i _

_ reached out. _

  


_ he’s looking towards _

_ nowhere, _

_ some void maybe _

_ inside of his self. _

  


_ it echoes within me, _

_ but not in the right pattern. _

_ it bounces against my walls _

_ but does not _

_ blend _

  


_ let me _

_ understand you _

  


“...it could help you in your reflections.” He concludes, handing it over him.

“Your advices have always been excellent, I have no doubt it will also be the same for this one.” He takes it with both of his hands, clutching a little too hard to it, wondering if it’s one of the last ones he’ll ever receive.

        Grabbing the book he chose for him, he follows Arima’s steps.

“I hope it will please you, it’s a play from the nineteenth century. I’m sure it would’ve been better in French as it’s constructed with verses, but I don’t know French at all.” 

  


_ I once had a friend who did. _

  


“What is it?”

“Lorenzaccio, by Musset.” He answers, giving him his book in return. “It is very interesting in its society and character analysis, beautifully written and still scarily accurate today; I felt kinship for the main character and his relations with everyone.” He leaves aside the numerous parallels that can be drawn to him, them, the CCG, hoping at the same time that Arima will and won’t understand why Sasaki lends him this work.

  


        His features still are gentle as he reads the back cover, thanking his protégé.

  


“This reunion could’ve been placed under the French flag it it weren’t for my last book. Here, Hunger tells a story of a man and how he restrains himself from eating in order to write a novel. By letting aside such a vital action, he slowly becomes a stranger to himself and to his hometown. That is a delicate work that Hamsun wrote here.”

  


        Sasaki isn’t the only one aptly entrusting the other with relatable stories, so it seems.

        They stay silent for a while as Arima sips his drink, browsing a few pages, discreetly nodding to whatever section he’s reading.

“Thank you Haise.” He’s looking at him, open and sincere.

  


_ love me tender _

_ love me sweet _

_ take my heart _

_ and crush it out. _

  


        Sasaki wants to cross the few centimeters between them, wishes to pierce through his chest and rip his heart out with his kagune, craves for his lips on his own. He’s tired of these paradoxes, and at the same time, they exist because he does too.

        The silence grows longer; Haise’s biting his lip, he doesn’t know what to say and he’s afraid of what he could do if he ever moved just the slightest.

  


“Do you need to talk about something?” Arima’s marginally leaned his chest towards him, scrutinizing.

        He opens his mouth as if to say something, before lightly smiling.

“No, it’s alright, thank you very much; for everything.”

        His brows furrows somewhat.

“You’re welcome.” He waits a little. “I didn’t mean on prying.”

“No, no, not at all.” He replies, distressed. “Can I offer you anything to eat?”

  


        He stands up and walks away in order to get his thoughts in place, but Arima follows him. Sasaki opens a cupboard and grabs Shirazu’s cookies before putting them back, going for Saiko’s pockys.

  


_ too soon. _

  


“I’m sorry, that’s all I-”

        He turns around and the taller man is just next to him. He takes a step forward, standing at arms’ length, and accepts the food Sasaki hands him. His expression is one of focus.

“You know you can talk to me if you...ever want to.” He’s never been very good at expressing his feelings, or empathy, as everyone seems to think.

  


_ Don’t do this to me. _

_ Go on. _

  


        The air passing through is gown gives him chills; Arima notices, pursing his lips as he takes in the other’s body. He doesn’t add anything.

  


        Haise closes his fists, running his thumb over the other fingers a few times.

“There is no need to worry: the last mission has been a heavy burden to all of us, I need to accept the loss of Ginshi...”

        Arima smiles, mildly convinced.

“This job comes with a price, I regret you have to go through this.”

  


_ if it wasn’t for this job I would either  _

_ be dead  _

_ or  _

_ still in this cell. _

_ just a couple of weeks and _

_ the price will be paid _

_ by others. _

  


        How hadn’t he noticed? The pin is there, hung to his shirt’s pocket. His discovery doesn’t go unseen.

“I try to remember moving it every day on my shirts. It’s the least I can do.”

  


_ Then do more. _

  


        Unwavering eyes fixed on him, Haise’s mind races, thoughts tampered with images of him closing the space between them to kiss those lips imprinting themselves on his lids as he slowly blinks. How he longs for Arima’s arm to close around his waist and tuck him closer; the both of them alone in this silent house, bodies flush, reality tucked aside as he’d free him of his gown. He wants to feel the brooch against his collarbone, to forget everything that wouldn’t be them; he wishes it would unlock and pierce his skin, that Arima’s hold would only get tighter.

  


        The sound of a pocky being eaten brings him back to the cold hard ground. Arima looks sad, absent, almost dead inside; and he realizes that himself must be getting ever closer to these same features as he now remembers. Though, the sight of this legend - be it for inspectors or ghouls - doesn’t merge well with the fact that he’s snacking on sweets, and the incongruity of it makes the younger man chuckle softly. He doesn’t have the strength to fully laugh, but this is the closest he’s been lately to something resembling it.

  


“What is it?” He asks, confused.

“Nothing; there’s simply the CCG’s best element eating pockys in my house. It’s improbable.” Sasaki answers, a smile on his face.

“You’ve come to know me over the past years and you’re unsettled by me... snacking?” His expression grows even more puzzled.

“Come to think of it, we hardly spend time together outside of these moments and work.”

  


_ If we don’t count those days in the cell. _

  


“This is true.” He nods.

“Listen,” He starts, not trusting himself to stay still if he doesn’t flee. “I have to call Saiko, and dress properly; we’re filling the extermination file’s paperwork this afternoon with Furuta. I don’t want to throw you out, but you know how long those things take to finish…”

  


        Arima’s gaze stays unfocused for a couple of seconds. “Of course.” They both know it’s just an excuse, but he complies, puts the food back on the counter and turns around. Sasaki wants to reach out, but that would be a mistake he’s not ready to fall for.

        Footsteps faint as he gets back in the living room to retrieve his bag, and when the door closes behind him silence falls heavily on his shoulders. The least he can do is trusting his word and fulfill what he said.

  


        The biggest advantage - and only one to be fairly honest - of being welcomed by mirror shards covering the way from his room to the shower is that he’s at least distracted from his train of thought. He doesn’t have any excuse for the insurance company anymore and it’s been so thoroughly destroyed this time that it can’t pass as an accident. 

        He sighs; it can be dealt later on today.

  


* * *

  


_ fibers itching _

_ a reaching body _

_ and things could turn out _

_ differently. _

_ mind screeching _

_ a misplaced word and _

_ my head falls off. _

  


_ maybe i should tell you _

_ this would give closure _

  


_ but i still have ties. _

  


_ only a little more _

_ and i will be able to let _

_ the ropes _

_ clasp _

_ around my neck _

  


_ knotted ties _

_ i’m coming for you _

_ and he’ll be waiting for me _

  


_ end in hand. _

  


        He shouldn't be thinking about the possible outcomes. It only imprints in his mind Furukawa's crows, an eternal flock descending upon Tokyo, establishing its reign above humanity.    
        It is a certainty: there will be crows coming for him.   
        After all, they know his carnal envelope is the only thing that is still left alive today.

  


* * *

  


        Sasaki figures Furuta and him will need more than enough coffee to bear the afternoon awaiting them. 

  


        Even when he had pushed all of these memories back, he would still crave coffee, even though it lacked something he couldn't put the finger on.   
  
        Today, he still doesn't know if this absence was caused by those cubes Yoshimura gave him or if he simply misses Anteiku's specific recipe. Maybe it's both, but he's certain he shouldn't think about it, about Yomo and Touka who opened their own place; if they did so, it must mean that he's dead, that Irimi and Enji fell too, that he failed to protect them.   
  
        This won't happen again.   
  
        He mechanically fills the cups, trying not to focus on the industrial smell of these badly brewed beans and to ignore the repugnant smell of his coworkers' meals.   
  
_I only have to bear all this comedy a little longer_.

  


        Furuta has his hands tangled in his hair when Haise comes in. When he hears him walk inside their office, he lets a long suffering sigh out, pushing the papers away and meeting his partner’s eyes with a look of relief.

“Thank god you’ve brought coffee back; I thought I was going to fall dead asleep on this crap. This is going to take hours to finish.” He lets words roll on his tongue, heavy with boredom.

“Take a break, after all, it’s not like the office closes past a certain hour.” Sasaki hands him the coffee over his desk, a small smile on his lips.

“What exciting perspectives.” He replies, springing from his chair to grab a cup and slump in the closest armchair. “Did you know there were eleven types of different formulations concerning ghoul injuries by dismembering? I don’t know how I feel about that, whether I should be amused by this administrative nonsense or mad at the time it makes us lose.” His feet are draped on the exact same spot his glass was when they had had a drink.

  


        Sasaki softly huffs, sitting in front of him, hands curled around his cup, waiting for the beverage to cool down a little. Furuta, from his attitude to his sole personality, always had his own way of distracting him.

  


“Did you find the correct one for her?”

“I’m not sure; could be three differents things. They sound the same but don’t have the same number of commas and I don’t want to redo this shit again over a comma mistake.”

“Just” Haise closes his eyes, lifting one of his hands in the air to make his colleague stop. “Take a breather.”

  


        He breaks into a fit of laughter, a nervous one, missing by a hair a spilling accident.

  


“My apologies, it’s already driving me crazy; I’ll never make fun of penpushers again.”

  


        Silence settles between them, and Haise notices after a few minutes that Furuta has fallen asleep, head resting in a way that would leave him a stiff neck for sure. He opens his bag and grabs one of the books Arima has lent him, knowing the other papers he would read during the day wouldn’t be of the same quality.

  


        The influence Hamsun’s work had on Kafka can easily be seen throughout the book, and he feels like the parallels he can find with his own life are not the only parameters that made Arima choose this peculiar novel. The way the protagonist tries to distantiate himself from the hunger he feels, without any hope of succeeding in this task, gives him the feeling he has guessed about Haise’s recollection.

        Even though it should scare him, he simply continues his reading, enjoying the peaceful silence surrounding him.

  


        He must have read for a little less than half an hour when Furuta yawns and winces when he moves his head.

“What’s that secret smile, boss? Has he given you a poignant romance novel?”

  


        Looking up from his page, he catches the other’s smug smile.

“Far from it.”

“How disappointing.”

“Would you stop with the nagging?” His tone is blasé, used to the other’s amused treatment.

“It’s far too fun to see your face when I hit just the right spot.” Unfolding his legs, he props his elbow on it and wedges his chin on his hand. “I’m rooting for you, you know that?”

“Furuta, this is the CCG, not a matrimonial company.”

“Let me have my little pleasures, where’s the harm in it?”

  


        A handful reasons cross his mind, particularly the one concerning the fact that he’s going to be killed by the exact man Furuta’s teasing him about.

  


“How old are you...seriously?” He still manages to smile a little, pushing aside these thoughts for the moment.

  


        Furuta’s smile only gets wider as he replies : “Six!”

        They both start laughing, and they know it is time to get back to work when their laughter dies.

  
        It took them far more longer than anyone would have liked to finish their file about the Tsukiyama extermination operation, leaving the office after the moon had already gone out for a couple hours.

  


        On his way back home, Sasaki checks Saiko’s twitter profile, fully knowing there are high chances he won’t even cross her way at the Château. She’s still as silent as she’s been these past few days on the social media and he hopes the CCG’s therapist will help her. On the other hand, at least, he’s glad Mutsuki and Urie have each other to hold on.

  


___

  


        The next days pass in a blur: he spends them interrogating Shiono and planning Hinami’s escape, navigating through breakdowns. They’re always lurking and he constantly feels the tingling in his body, the dull screeching in his mind like a close thunder he difficulty keeps at bay. The pressure is hard to manage and the efforts he has to make to keep the facade intact leave him exhausted by the end of the day.

  


        Arima calls him in for a debrief after a specifically heavy interrogatory and Haise takes a few minutes beforehand, jaw tight, to have a coffee and collect himself. 

        When he enters his office, he finds him gazing at the town several stories under. He looks like a modern statue, standing straight in his crisp white shirt, unfazed, afar, godly; and then he turns around and his composure breaks in the faintest smile.

  


“You’re exhausted.” He immediately says. 

        He shrugs, with a lopsided smile.

“I just have to hold on a little longer.”

        Tilting his head barely millimeters on the side, he seems to try reading between the lines; Haise starts talking again to cover the words he has left hanging in the air.

“We almost have him. There’s no doubt everything is going to unfold soon.”

        Arima slowly blinks, agreeing.

“I trust you will handle things the way they should be.”

        Silence settles itself over the room in thin waves, covering what is supposed to be another formal meeting. Haise walks up to him, handing him his coffee, gaze unwavering. The way Arima’s fingers curl around the cup makes him feel like crying; even after all this, he can't shake the feeling of a deep softness within the reaper.

  


        The low buzz of his static thoughts faints when the other opens his mouth and there’s a catch in his score; a silence where there shouldn't have been one. 

"I can easily see why you lent me that play."

        That split silence echoes through Haise's entire body, leaving a shiver in its wake, his own answering to Arima's. He's not sure about the sound that fled from his mouth.

"A hated duke in front of whom everyone bows; an outcast whose fall is awaited. Though, the duke isn't much of a father figure."

        The words leave his mouth before he can think them through.

"No, but Lorenzo was his protégé."

  


        The soreness of his throat only gets more painful when Arima delivers him one of his secretive smiles. The cup has disappeared from between his hands.

  


"I wish it could've ended differently." There’s a wrinkle faintly folding the skin of his cheeks, the rest of his face carefully blank, as he straightens up

        It’s now or never, Sasaki thinks, taking a step forward,.

"I do too."

        They’re gazing at each other, words softly slipping out of their mouths.

"They bought as much time as they could."

        He doesn't know if they're still talking about the play, if the tight knot in his chest is going to come undone.

  


        He barely notices the other’s hand raising until it connects with his cheek, slow and hesitant.   
"You remember."

        His heart is going to crawl out of his mouth.   
"You lied." There is no turning back; he knows there’s no use in denying as he lowers his head, Arima’s fingers moving along.   
"You gauged your eyes out every night." is the only thing he replies as lets his thumb caress his closed eyelid. The delicacy of it takes out Haise’s breath, leaning into the gesture as it moves against his lips and gets caught in their crease.   
  


        Even after all this, he still doesn't want to end him.   
  
        There is a word for that, he thinks. He had read a book about it, a prisoner falling for his jailer. He tries to remember the title when Arima lifts his chin up.  
“We still have time.”

        They both know that’s not the case.

        He finally meets his gaze: before him stands a crackling Romantic painting of a broken giant. There’s no trace left of his usual confidence, his impressive control; only the veil of uncertainty, expectation, and mostly the same look Haise has when he thinks about himself.

  


        Arima remains a mystery to him, and even the taste of his lips differ from every fantasy he’s ever had about this exact moment: he who had plunged in for a hungry and desperate kiss, a last call embrace, met in return a fade in white and silence contact. Arima moves slowly against him, the feeling it leaves in its wake akin to the look he wore instants prior: bittersweet and tender.

  


        None of what is said about him in the corridors reveals to be true. His body folds around him, arms closing around his back; the kisses he leaves on his lips like gliding tears, hot and ephemeral.

        Tongues meet and there’s more said than words could have revealed; it’s the silent exchange of regrets and dying hopes. It’s the too-lates and nevers choking them, letting their sighs entwine and merge in the thought that death awaits one of them.

  


_ is love abuse _ _  
_ _ or abuse, love? _ _  
_ _ i never quite managed to draw the line. _ _  
_ _ contact is still contact as long as skin touches skin _

  


_ where you taught anything other than _

_ leaving higanbana flowers behind you? _

  


_ i take it all, _

_ whatever it is; _

_ nestle it in my heart _

_ its spines and _

_ decaying petals. _

  


_ invade it all; _

  


        Trembling lips against his, Sasaki knows he will always be the trigger; he can feel the conflict shaking the man. Breaking apart, standing millimeters away, he sees the daylight piercing between his eyelashes, dying sunrays making the dust float around him like a halo. He’s in love with the reaper, the CCG’s savior, the man who took his life and gave him a name in return.

  


        Haise softly huffs; it’s this or he breaks down crying.

“Dying in your sheets, trying to start a revolution, maybe could’ve been the best way for me to end.”

        So does Arima.

“That’s not how the play ends.”

        He tucks the younger man’s tie properly and speaks once again. 

“Bring her back.”

  


        There is so much left unsaid and so little time left.

* * *

  


        He has freed her.

  


        Arima holds back then takes his limbs one after the other, eating his life away, scrapping his energy bit by bit, never delivering the final blow.

  


        645.

  


        It all passes in a blur, a fog covering it all, fantasized orchids acting as a mist flowing between hallucinations and wounds.

  


        None of them wants to kill the other.

  


        And then there’s blood, all over the tiles, spreading everywhere until that’s all he can see. The man between his arms lies as a martyr, thanking him for freedom, whispering hopes of upheaval. 

  


        He’s stuck in an incessant loop, short-circuiting any other thought: had he understood that, unlike Lorenzo towards the Duke, he had never despised or hated him?

        He should have made that clear, but he thought he would kill him; they both assumed it.

  


_ you were but a shell that had been hollowed out _

_ from the very beginning; _

_ a Colossus _

_ with clay feet. _

  


_ freedom comes with death _

_ and the taste of your lips on mine left me _

_ craving _

  


_ there’s this frightening possibility _

_ that the cycle will be broken, _

_ that i won’t forget to put down _

_ and hit _

_ the figures that made you up _

  


_ you've added your fair share in the puzzle _ _  
_ _ acting as organs _ _  
_ _ strengthening my frame _

_ scorching white on my patched-up being; _

_ sharp thoughts _

_ against _

_ a sharper blade _

  


_ you rioted, _

_ did what you thought was right; _

_ and it came with a sorrow in my heart _ _  
_ _ that diverts from the path i've always known. _

  


        There is no more time to clarify all this; he simply hopes  that the last flutter he exhaled wasn’t a regretful one.

  


        The fourth act is over, and the fifth one’s rideau needs to be worthy of it.

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Maybe I'll finish the smut one day. Maybe.
> 
> Regular Twitter: @putaindebite  
> Animanga Twitter: @sinsiree  
> Tumblr: http://vroumlecanardlaque.tumblr.com/


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